To Catch A Spy
by Andriech
Summary: Kirk finds evidence that there are spies on board in his primary command team. Please R&R!


_****of course I don't own any of these people--although the notion is intriging. The code is mine, and embarrasingly so. _

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**_To Catch A Spy_**

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The lights of the ship dimmed again imperceptibly as an eerie twilight sank onto the inhabitants. It was a restless time, when tiring day shifts ended and unseen nightshifts began. The entire ship seemed to settle with a shudder. Weary crewmen wandered back to lonely cabins while quiet parties settled into the rec rooms.

Kirk leaned back in the chair and, nursing a painful back muscle, stretched luxuriously. He wouldn't have been so tired if the lights in his cabin had been on and if the one small light that glowed over the desk a foot—high stack of reports in front of him. But the lights were off and the reports were there. The darkness seemed to make the cabin echo with silence.

With silence and solitude came peace: a welcome and unusual peace that Kirk bathed himself in for a long while. He let the last of the hot coffee sink down his throat before sitting forward again. Lifting the pile of reports that he still needed to read, he straightened them by clicking the edges against the desk a few times. The reports had all been filed in the computer bank, of course, and most Captains would have just accessed them there. Jim Kirk was not most Captain's: he required hard copies for his perusal. That way he could read them at his leisure, whatever that may be. He could bring the reports to the lounge, read them lying on his bed, or even read them curled in the corner of the floor with a heaping bowl of greasy popcorn in his lap. A stray piece of scrap paper drifted out of the pile currently in his hands and scurried onto the floor.

Replacing the pile on the desktop, he decided to finish reading the reports in the morning and concentrate the rest of the night on winning his chess game against Spock. He stood and bent over to scoop the scrap paper up and hoped that's what it was--a scrap. They often got mixed in with the reports. Unfortunately, sometimes he found innocuous pieces of paper with added bits of information that bore no indication as to which author or report it belonged to. Kirk gave it a cursory glance, then moved to deposit it in the recycler--then stopped. He brought it closer for a more detailed inspection. Lines burrowed their way through this forehead as he studied it closer. He'd quickly dismissed it as a casual note scribbled between friends, but the names struck him and the hair on the back of his neck lifted as he read it.

_'Wooflu,_

_Bcuomhazd--Bpyzazd ozezs Yafludapec. Pec piyou 1800._

_ Yafen.'_

"Come," Kirk said aloud as the door chimed.

"Jim, are we going to continue our chess game this evening?"

"Yes, yes," he answered distractedly. He looked up at his impassive First Officer then. "Spock, are you aware of any personnel on the Enterprise named Wooflu or Yafen?"

"Indeed," he answered. "I am not. However, there are many cultures in which the use of nicknames is prevalent. I have ascertained the assigning of any particular nickname follows no logical order."

"No," Kirk muttered agreement. "What do you make of this?" he asked, thrusting the paper at the man.

Spock's eyebrows rose as he read the note. "I am unfamiliar with this particular language. Have you tried the computer banks?" he questioned.

"Not yet," the Captain replied tersely, his skin crawling as he tried to calm himself. "I only just found it."

The First Officer was nodding patiently from where he had taken a seat at Kirk's computer console. He input the contents of the note and waited for an analysis. His impassive tone was actually grim. "Captain, this language is of unknown origin."

"That's not possible," Kirk spat out. The cold took firm hold of his very soul as he paced over to the desk. He had to forcefully contain the rage that threatened to consume him. "The computer is programmed with every known language and dialect."

"Every known language and dialect," Spock agreed. "This could be a language as yet unencountered by the Federation."

"Or a code," the Captain growled forcefully on his breath as he paced away again, clenching and unclenching his fists violently.

"Indeed," the First Officer repeated, nodding in agreement with the conclusion. "A logical assumption. I shall submit it to cryptography. They will not have an answer for at least several hours: such a thing is impossible to calculate. We shall know then what we are dealing with."

"We know now what we're dealing with," Kirk roared, stopping his pacing to spin and face his First Officer. "Spock, we have spies on board: spies on board my ship.

"I want them off," he continued angrily, pacing away again like a caged animal. He gestured wildly. "I want them caught and I want them off my ship!"

"I shall call an immediate briefing of the ship's department head's."

"No," Kirk blurted in return. He stood staring at Spock a moment, clenching his jaw as he thought. The officer's he had chosen to head his departments he had done so with a trust so complete that he was willing to place not only his life, but also the lives of his crew in their hands. Scotty, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov.... In his gut he trusted them totally: in reality the Captain realized he did not completely know these people.

"McCoy," he said. "Just McCoy: I'll go tell the Doctor, he should know. He may be able to see clues, signs in the note or anything else that turns up: give us an idea of the personality of the person we're looking for.

"In the meantime," he continued. "I want every piece of scrap sorted through before the ship reclaims it. I want every piece of evidence we can get for cryptography to work on."

The Captain spent every waking moment from then on--and they were all waking moments--pacing carefully through his life. He knew somewhere around him were two people who did not appear as they are. Kirk studied every movement, every gesture, and every look of those around him. It wasn't something he could see, but he looked anyway.

Only Chekov noticed, and only Chekov was brazen enough to ask the Captain if there was something he could do to assist with whatever was bothering him. Kirk wanted to smile at the memory. The Chief Navigator he knew the least of his department heads, but the young man's alertness and empathy were an unexpected quality the Captain had come to admire. His uninhibited willingness to address what he saw, as well, was startling.

Unfortunately, Kirk thought with a hallowness, it was just the kind of behavior one would expect from someone needing to watch and protect themselves. Others who considered the entire Enterprise crew may have eliminated Chekov from suspicion, but the Captain knew both the man's parents were cultural anthropologists who traveled extensively and brought their child along with them. His Navigator was fluent in several languages--and dialects that Uhura related weren't all recorded. In fact, she had told the Captain that Chekov even spoke the dialect of the nomadic reindeer herders in northern Siberia.

Each and every one of his trusted friends and officers passed through the Captain's mind: each bringing along a trace of guilt. Scott, with his wide-spread engineering contacts; Uhura with her contacts from her extensive communications education and contacts; Sulu, if only from having grown up on a space station with its endless parade of transients. It was with relief his thoughts passed on to other officers and then into the crew itself.

The analysis was tedious but his obsession with it could find no relief.

"Captain."

Started, Kirk actually blinked as he came into the present and turned to the First Officer. "Mr. Spock?"

"Yes, Sir. If I may have a word with you?"

Straightening, the Captain carefully took in a cleansing breath. "Of course. Mr. Scott..." He froze, every cell in his body suddenly losing its warmth as the Security Guards exited the lift and took their positions on the bridge. Startled glances passed through the bridge personnel and he snapped to his feet as though not noticing. "Mr. Scott, take the con."

"They broke the code," the Captain declared as soon as the lift doors closed.

"No," Spock replied. "They were able to obtain several more messages between this 'Yafen Yekzif' and 'Wooflu', but cryptography could not even begin to decipher the code. It is logically a code, since several of the other messages contained English words as well as the unidentifiable words. There appears to be a finite number of these unknown words but cryptology remains unable to discern their meaning."

"What are these words?" Kirk asked once inside the briefing room, turning to face his First Officer.

The Vulcan's eyebrow's raised. "In addition to the names you have encountered, capitalization would imply other names as well: Yafludapec, Mackob, Enmepfluz, Comu....the list of other words is extensive. Finite," he added, "but extensive."

The Captain stood for a moment, studying his friend's unreadable features. Somehow, he could always read them anyway. "Spock," he intoned quietly, "why did you pull me off the bridge if they haven't deciphered the code?"

The First Officer straightened his shoulders. "They could not decipher the code, true. I, however, believe I have found the answer you have been looking for. In programming the computer to filter all paper waste, I added a sub-routine to trace such waste. We do not know what the messages say, but we know which waste receptacles they have been disposed of in."

Kirk's throat seized as he tried to swallow and he tugged his uniform shirt down neater. "Who?" he asked breathlessly.

"Jim..."

"WHO?" he roared this time, hazel eyes hard.

"Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu and Ensign Pavel Chekov. At this point in time, they should already be detained in separate areas of the brig."

"Tell McCoy to meet me at the brig immediately," Kirk snarled.

He was still standing outside the brig's bulkhead, consumed by the feeling of being betrayed by those he had actually allowed himself to trust.

"Jim! Jim!" McCoy rasped as he scrambled up beside the Captain. "You can't actually believe this?!"

"Bones," Kirk responded hollowly. "I spent the last hours of my life picturing myself killing these people in the most gruesome manners I could imagine. Now I find..."

"Sulu and Chekov are not spies! You can't believe that!"

"I have no choice but to believe what the facts tell me, Bones," he shot back, turning his fierce gaze to him for the first time. "I don't want to think any of the officers I trust could be spies, but facts are facts."

"Indeed they are," Spock agreed as he joined them, a clipboard under his arm. "However, the meaning of such facts is open to interpretation."

"What do you mean?" Kirk demanded.

The First Officer tightened his hold on the clipboard. "I have already inter...spoke to Mr. Sulu, Captain. If we could speak to Mr. Chekov, I believe we shall obtain the correct interpretation as to this code and its use."

The Captain hesitated, eyeing Spock with calculated curiosity as he entered the brig to his side. Kirk carefully stepped into the small room behind him. Chekov was not sitting on the bed provided, wringing his hands as one might expect of a young officer hauled to the brig without reason. No, the Navigator was standing silently, staring at the wall with his hands clasped soberly behind his back. It was what the Captain would have expected from the young man he knew--or from someone who fully knew they were guilty, he thought ruefully.

Chekov turned as the senior officers entered and met the Captain's eyes. The young Russian was always sure he had done something not up to standard, so Kirk supposed such circumstances would hardly unnerve him.

"Mr. Chekov," Spock said. "Would you please read this note aloud?"

The Navigator took the note from the man's outstretched hand and his face instantly grayed as his eyes fell on it. "Why...where did you get this?" he stammered.

"Read it!" Kirk spat.

"Yes...yes, Sir."

"Translate it," the First Officer corrected both their instructions to the younger officer. "We can read."

Chekov handed the scrap of paper back to the Vulcan. "It says 'Sulu, remember to deliver these reports to the Captain. Meet you in the rec room at 1800 hours.'"

"You didn't even look at it," Kirk drew out as he stepped closer.

"I didn't need to. I just wrote it yesterday morning."

"So you admit you've been involved in espionage while aboard this ship."

"What?!" Chekov gasped, his eyes shooting open as the color flashed back into his cheeks. "I am not a spy!" he said indignantly. "I wouldn't spy on you if...if they ordered me to!!" he finished hotly, eyes bright.

Kirk glanced sharply at him, biting back a grin. That was the young man's whose loyalty he had come to count on. "Then what's the meaning of this code we discovered that you've been using?"

It was the Navigator's turn to scowl. "I don't know what you mean. What code?"

"Mr. Chekov," Spock intoned passively. "If you could perhaps define certain words for us?"

"You cannot use the computer?"

"No," the First Officer replied. "The computer has no definition for 'Yafludapec'. Have you?"

Chekov shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the Captain and other officer's furtively. He cleared his throat. "It means 'Captain Kirk.'"

Nodding, Spock began a list of other names. "Mackob?"

"Doctor McCoy," the young man replied, dark eyes fixed on the floor.

"Kinec?"

"Commander Spock."

"Comu?"

"Lieutenant Commander Scott."

"Enmepfluz?"

"I don't see the point of all this!" Chekov exploded suddenly, spinning away and throwing his hands up. "That's not a code any more than I'm a spy!"

"If it's not a code, than what is it?" Kirk demanded.

"It's that Sulu is an asshole! That's all it is!"

McCoy snickered behind the Captain and received a glare in return. When Kirk returned his attention back to Chekov, he was using a stylus to write something on Spock's clipboard with his left hand, his face reflecting much diligence.

"Thank-you, Mr. Chekov," he said, retracting the clipboard and moving over to give it to the Doctor. "Doctor McCoy, could you please read this aloud?"

Sighing, McCoy held it up, but then frowned dramatically. "It says he should write fewer paper letters home: his handwriting is practically illegible."

"I have very good handwriting!" the young man protested indignantly.

"Read it," Spock instructed without wavering.

The Doctor sighed again. "It says...." After hesitating, he shrugged. "It says Yafen Yekzif."

Kirk glanced at him sharply. "What?" he demanded, stepping over quickly and pulling the clipboard away.

"You see," McCoy asserted. "It's got that extra squiggle there and flourishes, but it says..."

"Yafen Yekzif," the Captain concluded, only he recognized it was not the Latin alphabet. He approached his Chief Navigator. "What does this actually say, Ensign?"

"It's my signature in Russian," Chekov shrugged. "It just says 'Pavel Chekov'."

"So this...language...is not actually a code?" Kirk ventured.

"No." The young Navigator scowled dramatically. "I told you, it's just Sulu being an asshole. I write letters home: he saw my signature once and declared I've been lying about what my name really is. He likes to torment me," the man snarled, as though he needed to inform anyone there of that fact. "I just started fighting fire with fire, although he's much better at it."

"Lieutenant Sulu offered the same explanation, although his definitions were, shall we say, more literal," Spock explained.

"You mean they were just writing notes to each other?" McCoy asked hotly. Then added quickly: "I told you they weren't spies!"

Kirk scrutinized Chekov while they talked. The cold hesitation caused by betrayal had seeped away and he chewed on the inside of his lip in sober thought. "Ensign," he finally intoned. "I hope you understand that certain measures had to be taken..."

"To protect both the ship and the Federation," the young man concluded simplistically.

The Captain nodded, as offering further explanation would have been offensive. He glanced over as the Helmsman was let into the room and the barriers deactivated. "So," he drew out, eyeing Chekov again. "Let me understand this. These...words...the two of you use are English pronunciations of Russian words written in the Cyrillic alphabet?"

"Handwritten," the Navigator clarified. "It doesn't really work with the printed alphabet. Sulu can do it instantly: but it takes me a minute because I can read what it really says."

Kirk continued nodding deeply. "Spock," he remarked. "This situation can't help but make me think about the Native American's in the United States on Earth."

"What?" the Doctor rasped.

"Yes," the Captain said. "The Navajo Nation in particular."

"Indeed, I agree with your assessment," replied the First Officer.

"Damn it!" Chekov exploded, slamming his fist into his Helm Partner's arm. "This is all your fault!"

"What the hell is your problem?!" Sulu demanded, shoving the younger man away.

"You're always getting me into trouble!"

"Gentlemen!" Kirk warned. He turned hazel eyes on the Helmsman, who apparently did not understand yet. "Cryptography and our computers could not decipher your notes, despite all efforts."

"He's referring to the Navajo Code Talkers," Chekov explained dismally. "The code still has not been broken."

"I know that," Sulu retorted. "What's that got to do with..." he stopped at his friends demonic look. "Oh."

"Yes," the Captain said brightly. "Gentlemen, Mr. Spock will be working time in cryptography into your duty schedules."

"Wait," interjected McCoy. "I still don't understand Spock saying Sulu's translations were more literal. What does that mean? So, Yafludapec--Captain Kirk--means what according to Sulu?"

"It does mean Captain Kirk," Chekov said quietly, dark eyes fixed on Sulu.

"That, however, is not the translation," Spock remarked. "If I am not mistaken, Yafludapec is actually the word for Tiberius."

The Captain smiled at Chekov. "As you said, Captain Kirk.

"Mr. Spock," he continued. "Arrange a replacement for the remainder of the Helm Team's duty shift today: I don't want the ship's Chief Medical Officer complaining I'm unduly stressing out my command team." He moved to leave the room, but stopped and turned.

"Oh, and gentlemen," he added knowingly. "I will not hear the word Enmepfluz used again in any circumstance."


End file.
